Clenched in both hands were new jeans and a shirt belonging to my 16-year-old stepson, Brett. The clothing was already destroyed from burn holes and vomit stains after a drunken binge.
He passed a cairn of stones that once had been a chimney, and a dry well covered with a slab of the tin so rusty it served as more warning than a safeguard.
None of this should give succour to creationists, whose blinkered universe is doubtless already buzzing with the news that "new Scientist has announced Darwin was wrong".
Though my running began as a dare during a drunken stupor, running has become a life changing lifestyle that I try to share with anyone and everyone I come across.